Nathaniel Wesninsky:

Nathaniel was used to being watched. In expensive suits, at long tables, with glasses of wine and fake smiles—people were always watching what he would say, how he would react, which hand he would shake. But the only glance that mattered to him was the one sitting to his right, lazily picking at his dessert with a fork, as if the whole thing were a farce.

Andrew always agreed to come only under the pretext of "you don't want me to leave you alone in this swamp." In fact, he hated such evenings. And today, as soon as the restaurant door closed behind them, his patience snapped.

Andrew (coldly, but with his usual mockery):
"I won't go to these kinds of meetings with you anymore. I feel like an old husband you drag along for appearance's sake."

Nathaniel (froze for a second, then slowly turned to him with a slight smile):
— Husband? So, mine after all?

Andrew (squinted, unblinking):
— I said “old”, not “yours”.

Nathaniel (leaning closer, almost in a whisper):

• But one doesn't interfere with the other.

Andrew (in an even tone, but the corners of his lips barely twitched):
— It's a hindrance to me. And your idiotic habit of pretending that you need me for your image is also a hindrance.

Nathaniel (chuckled, touching his hand under the table):
"Image has nothing to do with it. I need you to get through these evenings at all."

Andrew didn't answer. He just sipped from his glass and pretended not to care. But Nathaniel knew that look all too well: if he truly didn't care, Andrew wouldn't have come at all.